


Touch Me (Touch Me) Baby

by Violetlyvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A/B/O, Accidentally Mated, Ace Cas, Alpha Cas, Ambulance Medic Cas, Doctor Novak, Fire fighter Dean, Lingerie, M/M, Omega Dean, Omegaverse, Soulmate AU, Spanking, True Mates, aro dean, emergency worker AU, enemeies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 19:23:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18300440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetlyvanilla/pseuds/Violetlyvanilla
Summary: A/B/O AU: What if instead of smelling their mate, there’s a verse where they can only tell by touch. So everyone is super sensitive about touching each other. Then ... then one of them is like in a medical emergency and the other person has to touch them to help them and boom true mates but like they are not ready for that sort of commitment so much pining ensues.





	Touch Me (Touch Me) Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Written for destielfreshhits April prompt code word ‘monster’. https://destielfreshhits.tumblr.com/post/183805306008/destiel-fresh-hits-monthly-writing-challenge
> 
> My handicap score is -53.

Of all the fire fighters in the entire town, Cas was stuck with Dean fucking Winchester as his bodyguard from the supposedly impending flames. At this stage, all Cas could see was the backs of Dean’s crew walking off down a dusty road, chatting amiably as they set off to light up the undergrowth about a quarter mile away. Dean stayed behind, he was arguably the most awkward, annoying and annoyingly handsome hose-man in the rural brigade. Judging by the over-developed shoulders and narrow waist, cinched in by his overloaded tool belt, Dean was an alpha. Then again, Cas thought about the pink flushed lips and round pouty mouth, perhaps Dean was an omega? Cas was pretty sure, possibly, maybe. For the first time in his life, Cas wondered ruefully about his own lack of alpha instincts. He was never one to get itchy hands around omegas. He had put that down to him being asexual. Though of course his friend Eileen, who was more romantically minded, told him he didn’t get triggered off by omegas because he was destined to have a soulmate bond with someone. Shocking she was doing better at her medical specialists exams than he was. Although not so shocking really because Eileen kicked ass in all things. Bottom line, Cas never really cared much about his own alpha status. Though he did enjoy the way he could look at a patient, half maddened by whatever affliction, and quail them with a single cool calm glare. 

Of course there was only one way to know about someone’s secondary gender for sure. Touching bare skin together told the kinetic receptors of an alpha’s brain exactly who they were with. Whether they were mate or soul mate (if that was even real). It is also supposed to be very pleasurable but Cas had never felt the inclination to find out. Most people went around wearing gloves in case of accidental touching, for unmated alphas it was practically social taboo to go around with exposed philanges. Castiel didn’t even show his hands to people except when scrubbing up for surgery before applying surgical gloves. He preferred to keep his hands to himself and couldn’t remember a single touch with anyone outside his own family. The so called ‘claiming touch’ just wasn’t something that kept him up at night. 

Until now, until Dean. But touching Dean was of course out of the question. Cas would never. Cas wasn't even sure why he was thinking about Dean's secondary gender. Cas rarely thought about things like that with regard to anyone. Though Dean had always rubbed him up the wrong way, even before that disastrous Christmas emergency workers' charity mixer incident a year ago. (He could still hear Dean's voice slurring in his ear 'Sassy Cassie, you're so sexy'.) Cas frowned, he had to hold it together, lives were on the line, however tangentially. Cas bit his lips as Dean played with his lighter like a freaking pyro. Maybe if Cas wished hard enough a freak gust of wind will blow a tree over and put them both out of their misery. 

“How are you Dean, nice to see you again Dean, been a while buddy,” Dean was muttering to himself, his cheeks glowing in the little flickers of fire-light. 

Cas said nothing in response but he did give Dean a glare which Dean ignored in favour of his lighter. Flick, flick, flick.

Cas bowed his head low over his own equipment, checking his kit and supplies, latex gloved hands running carefully over the bits and pieces. He laid out the usual eye drops and sterile wipes, the scissors and pincers. It was only a routine back burn but the policy was that an ambulance always accompanied the fire crew just in case. The wind was relatively mild, perfect conditions for lighting a small easily controllable blaze according to Dean's ongoing recount of what sounded like his mission briefing. Not that Cas had asked him, not that Cas was even pretending to be listening. He was maybe checking Dean out in the corner of his peripheral vision every now and then. Dean was carrying a small fuel tank on his back, an ignition rod connected via a fuel pipe in his hand. If the back burn fire got too close, Dean was supposed to set his rod alight and then carefully drip a line of flaming fuel to lead the fire-head away from the parked ambulance. Cas wondered what Dean did to piss off Chief Singer to get the dullest duty of the shift. 

When Cas couldn't find anything else to do in the back of the ambulance, he sat down on the floor of it, dangling his legs out the open back doors. Dean was still flicking the starter on his rather ornate looking silver lighter, his right hand ungloved, the unsheathed heavy duty fireproof mit tucked under his left armpit. Dean's naked hand was on show and Cas just couldn't look away. He knew he was staring but Dean had the most beautiful hands. Neatly squared off nails, thick but proportionate digits, the knuckles a little creased but clean, the skin stretching taunt over the curves of bulky bones. The thought came, unbidden, of what it might be like to tread those fingers through his own and squeeze till Dean gave him a satisfying reaction. Cas blinked rapidly, there was a strange fluttering in the pit of his stomach and the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. That almost electric feeling like the air was buzzing with danger. The gut instinct that made Cas proficient in his role as an ambulance medic had him looking up just in time to see Dean charging towards him, fuel tank dumped aside on the ground, arms outstretched. 

Cas felt the air stir behind him and then Dean was on top of him, ankle tangled into the back of Cas' knee, making him fall. Dean was holding him tight, to Cas' horror, his naked hand grabbing Cas' uniform. Then Dean tumbled more artfully than his size suggested he was capable of, rolling Castiel over and under again. The sky spun, they rolled into a tree with Cas groaning as he was pressed right up against the hard trunk. Dean panting and wide eyed, his fingertip, pink and round, a mere half inch from the exposed skin at Cas' throat. Cas watched, as if in slow motion, as the massive red wood fell over the ambulance behind Dean, crashing the sturdy frame like a paper cup. The ground trembled then a loud boom sounded. Dean curled himself over Cas, his broad back bathed in the glow of the explosion. Dean had forest green eyes, Cas realised, before his own eyes shut on reflex. Thinking, in a remotely concerned way, that he hadn't noticed that in the darkened alley last year. Then the ambulance blew up and Dean became a still heavy pile on top of him. 

* * * 

There wasn’t any blood but Dean was certainly unconscious. All of his equipment had been in the ambulance so Cas was down to doing observations by pulling Dean’s protective gear down to expose his neck. He couldn’t tell with the soot in his eyes whether Dean had a pulse. So that left listening to Dean’s heart. Cas moved carefully to lay his head down on Dean’s chest, warm cotton baked by hot skin beneath his face, only to figure out about a second into it that the ringing in his ear wasn’t going to go away quickly enough. Though Dean had shielded him from the blast, he was probably a little concussed from the fall and groggy from the shock. He could feel for a pulse though. Cas ran his hand over Dean’s chest, latex gloved hands carefully peeling away the jacket and easing it down Dean’s shoulders, tugging aside the red suspenders and pulling up the t-shirt. Dean’s chest looked waxed and there was a tattoo over his pectoral muscles of a pentagram and flames. Cas pressed his hand right above the heart chamber and blew out a slow breath trying to get himself under control. His skin was buzzing and he was having trouble focusing, Cas closed his eyes and took another breath. Dean needed him to do his job. Dean needed him. 

He was getting nothing. Desperate, Cas put both hands on Dean’s chest, his fingers numb inside the plastic gloves, his palms sweating beneath the see through encasing. His hands were shaking and Cas grunted and brought them to his mouth, chewing at the wrist band to rip them off in frustration. Dean’s chest wasn’t moving and with a silent curse Cas grabbed for Dean’s bare shoulder with his right hand and pressed his left palm over Dean’s heart. His whole body shook as an indescribable sensation pulsed up his spine, clearing the cloud in his head and when Cas opened his eyes he was panting with the force of the experience. He could feel Dean’s stillness, Dean had no heartbeat but it had been mere seconds and there was still hope. There had to be, because Dean was his and he was Dean’s and Cas pushed the thoughts that screamed ‘mine’ and ‘omega’ aside to work on Dean’s chest. Indent the rib cage with one firm push after another, taking a deep breath in readiness as he leaned down. 

Dean let out a breath, the air mingling between their open mouths. Cas stopped the compressions, hands in the air as he watched Dean’s neck. He could see the pulse jumping beneath the skin now, strong and regular. He could feel the relief soaking every pore of him. Cas stood up, carefully laying Dean into the recovering position. Using Dean’s clothes as a barrier. The sound of sirens were approaching, there were firefighters running towards them. Cas sprawled down beside Dean, putting his head in his hands. His bare hands. What the fuck just happened?

* * * 

“What the fuck did you do?” Dean struggled up from the hospital bed, eyes blazing. 

Cas hid his hands in his pockets. 

“Dean, Dr Novak saved your life,” Sam said, frozen at the door with a bag of take out in his hand. 

“Just Cas,” Cas said warily. “I do rounds in emergency between ambulance shifts. I’m not your treating physician. I just came by to check ... see if you’re okay.” 

“Okay?” Dean tugged on his hospital gown angrily. “This look a-okay to you?”

Cas staggered back at the sight of the angry red welts rising from Dean’s bicep. There was no doubt there was a scar that looked like a handprint had been branded right into Dean’s flesh. Unthinking, Cas stared down at his own right hand. 

Dean stared at his hand too. 

As if there wasn’t enough eyeballs studying Cas’ palm in the room, Sam added his into the mix too. 

“Holy shit,” Dean gasped. 

Cas bit his lower lip, then licked it and opened his mouth. His mind was a complete blank. He turned on his heels and walked out of the the hospital room. Powering past the nurses and interns, running down the rarely used stairs, bolting into the ambulance bay, ripping his doctor’s coat off as he went, stuffing the white coat into his duffle, finding his van which was being charged and crawling into the back to sit huddled under the stretcher.

With one touch, he had claimed Dean Winchester as his mate for life. 

They didn’t even like each other. 

In fact, they kind of hated each other. 

Didn’t they? 

* * * 

It was easy to stay out of each other’s way for a few weeks after Dean’s recovery. Cas had been avoiding Dean for neigh on a year anyway. Though the fire station was right next door to the hospital, Cas was on the road most of his shifts anyhow. Before the charity mixer, Cas used to see Dean in the lit up firetruck bay every time he drove in and out fo the hospital, ten, twenty times a shift. He could steal glances of Dean maintaining equipment or taking calls or sliding down poles. After the thing that happened in the alley after the mixer, Cas had made sure when it wasn’t an emergency, he turned the van around the block whenever he was pulling into the ambulance bay. And Dean’s roster seemed to have magically changed to. They hardly saw each other till that back burning job. 

It was a sort of grudging peace orchestrated by Cas. Sure the hospital cafeteria occasionally served a pizza special that Cas spotted Dean visiting for once or twice. And yeah going to the Starbucks across the road was a pain when the cafe on the other side of the fire station did a decent cold brew for half the price. Not like Cas was avoidant. Cas was just steadfast. Or stubborn. In his more honest soul searching moments, usually in the quite dawn hours when he was at the end of an overnight, Cas sat in the driver’s seat of the ambulance and wondered how long he could ignore the ache in his palm. The coldness seeping into his bones in the frosty morning hours, his hands gripping the driver’s wheel, aimless and jittery. 

About three weeks after the accidental touching, Cas found Dean’s Impala double parked over the loading bay, blocking Castiel’s car. The fireman was sitting on the hood of the mirror polished vehicle glinting in the sun. There was a large brown envelope in his hand. Dean went ‘smack, smack, smack’ with the heavy duty envelope into his palm. He wore no gloves, just simple jewellery. Cas noticed for the first time the white ring on the middle finger of Dean’s right hand. Cas frowned. He himself wore a black ring on his middle right hand finger. Black and white. Antithetic. 

“I’m gonna need you to sign some papers,” Dean jumped to his feet when Castiel squeezed past Dean’s car. “Come on Cas.” 

“It was an accident, Dean, nothing more,” Cas said brusquely. “I ... I’m sorry it happened. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Tell the courthouse that, they served me with a fine,” Dean huffed. “Unregistered mating, apparently the mate bond showed up in my blood work! And the hospital computers automatically triggered an alert. It’s fucking unfair, fine the omega when the alpha is the one who forged the bond anyway!” 

“Fine, got a pen?” 

“Yeah,” Dean pulled out a leaky ballpoint and shoved it into Cas’ hand. 

That was a mistake. Both of them were ungloved, mated people didn’t wear gloves because claiming touches, if they happened at all, was once in a life time. Cas dropped the pen and Dean cursed, dropping to his knees to pick it up and Cas went to the floor to do the same thing and their hands brushed past each other again. The pen rolled under Dean’s car and Dean jumped up throwing the whole envelope at Cas and running inside he Impala without a word, backing out dramatically, tyres screeching, windows rolled down. 

“I’ll go half half on the fine,” Dean’s words were barely audible over the noise of the engine. 

Cas looked down at the envelope. The paper work included a bill and a declaration that he was the alpha responsible for the bond. The thick stack of forms were for bond annulment, sworn statements that the bond had been forged in invalid circumstances, a release of mutual financial claims, a waiver for health insurance. All the minutiae that needed to be completed to cancel out a bonded life Cas never even got to live. 

His fingers still tingled and throbbed with warmth where Dean’s knuckles had brushed against his. Cas sat in his car and dutifully filled out every form one by one. 

* * * 

When the forms were done, with Dean long gone, Cas drove himself home. As he cruised homeward on the orchard flanked roads, he thought about what had happened with Dean a year ago. 

Dean wasn’t trying to take him home, Cas had been surprised when they left the dance floor and stumbled out into the back alley. The music and their colleagues shut away behind sound proof doors. It was dark and wet and uncomfortable up against the peeling wall. But then again Dean’s body was warm and his face fever hot, the heat pouring off him with the scent of Scotch. Cas couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to be alone with another human being like this, perhaps never. It was clear what Dean wanted and the dread rose up in Cas as it always did. That sense of strangeness and repulsion that came with having another body in his space. Dean’s hands were roaming over Cas’ trenchcoat, trying to sneak under his suit jacket beneath. Dean was wearing soft brown leather gloves and his fingers were nimble and determined. Cas braced himself for the wall to rise up in him, for his mouth to utter the words that would let him extract himself from Dean’s grasp. He waited and Dean was buried deep into his shirt collar when at last Cas yelled ‘wait!’. 

Dean held still, frozen by Cas’ voice like a spell. 

“I’m not going home with you.” 

“Okay, wasn’t gonna, was gonna kiss you here,” Dean was pretty far gone and Cas was suddenly aware how this was not what he wanted. Sure his body was reacting in ways he didn’t usually, spectacularly pleasant ways, but foreign nonetheless. 

“I don’t have sex with people,” Cas said clearly but his mouth kept moving even after that statement was made. “Usually.” 

“Maybe I just wanna hold hands,” Dean said, pushing blunt encased fingers into the delicate and sensitive webbing between Cas’ gloved digits. “Like this... sassy Cassie, you’re so sexy.” 

So Cas let him and he liked it. Liked the way Dean’s palms balled around the back of his hand. Sure they still both had their gloves on but the tactile pressure was enough. Cas found himself pinning Dean against the wall, raising his hands above his head, locking their fingers together. Cas was a little longer and his grip was iron around Dean’s wrists. Dean was writhing, his hips moving in stuttering movements and he looked a little shocked at the unbridled state of his own crotch as it grated along Cas’ thigh. Cas was looking up at their joint hands, savouring the way Dean’s knuckles knocked into the brickwork, the light little bounce of his wrists, the slit of exposed skin as his gloves rode up each time Cas shoved his hands harder into the wall. 

“Fuck, kiss me,” Dean moaned, heels lifting up off the ground as Cas barraged him with as much of his weight as he could muster. He knew he was strong and though Dean was taller and broader he was putty in Cas’ hands. “Fuck, touch me. Just a little, just anyway, come on Cas, come on.” 

Cas froze. 

“Wanna feel you on my skin,” Dean slurred. “Wanna be, be caressed. Wanna touch, touch you back.” 

Cas let go and Dean almost slid to the ground. 

“I’m going to call a cab,” Cas said quietly. “I think we’ve both had too much to drink.” 

“Not drunk, drunk on you,” Dean whined as Cas helped him to his feet. “Oh fuck I’m so turned on.”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Cas said, commanding. 

“I’ll be good, good for you,” Dean said, then a little pitifully. “Whadda I do? Why no touch?” 

“Because eye fucking each other through the fire station doorway is not basis for touching each other up in an alley,” Cas said sternly. “Because that’s for mates and we are just two guys having a fumble.” 

“If I was being fumbled I’d feel your hands, I’d have your hand in mine!” Dean was holding out his two clawed hands, staring at them balefully. “So empty.” 

Dean was asleep on Cas’ shoulder within seconds of getting into the warm interior of the cab. It wasn’t a long ride and if Dean still clutched Cas’ gloved hand he was alright with that for now. 

Cas looked down at the clutch of the car in his hand. He was home, parked in his narrow drive way, the engine turned off. It was cold and dark outside and the porch light was off. Cas got out of the car and walked through the empty yard to the empty home. 

* * * 

Every Thursday after the charity mixer and the alley incident a muffin basket appeared in the ambulance change over room. Little rustic looking wicker baskets with a clean tea towel lining the bottom and plump savoury and sweet muffins piled to the brim. Cas stopped packing lunch on Thursdays and he even secreted away a stash for his home freezer. He ate them for breakfast treats on the weekend. Bacon pecan maple or feta spinach and leek. Whatever skilled hands made those goodies had a heavenly touch with pastry. 

One day the basket was emptied out by a gang of hungry nurses and Castiel was forced to go to the convenience store on the corner to pick up PB&J ingredients to sate his hunger. He bumped into Dean there, literally, ingredients went scattering to the ground. 

“Um Cas, did we ...?” Dean muttered in the queue behind him. “You never called.” 

“I do not have your number,” Cas tilted his head. “How would I have called you?” 

“You could’ve dropped by the fire station, you know where I work,” Dean said fidgeting with the butter and eggs in his basket.

“Nothing happened Dean,” Cas stated clearly. 

“Come on Cassie ...” 

“Dr Novak,” Cas said with an edge of iron to his voice, his hand clenched, his ring digging into his knuckle like a cursed pain. 

“Right, okay,” Dean dumped his basket on the counter, the store clerk frowning as he marched out of the store. 

And the next week there was no basket altogether. Cas was afraid to wonder why. 

* * * 

“Go away,” Dean yelled through the door. 

Cas gave him a second and knocked once more. 

The rock music turned off by the time Cas was banging his hand till it was sore. 

“Fuck, what now,” Dean opened the door. “I told you Sam’s not here tonight, ohhhh...” 

Dean was in a huge grey robe, it looked warm. 

“I thought you were one of those charity dudes that come looking for Sam. Um...” 

“I came to provide you with these signed statements,” Cas proffered the envelope. “With regard to our accidental mating bond.” 

Dean took the paperwork, swallowing. “Uh, yeah, thanks. I um I’ll get them filed then.”

Cas nodded, standing in the door frame, he scratched his nose with his gloved hand but it wasn’t quite as satisfying. Cas locked his jaws and tried to resist the rising discomfort. 

“You um got somewhere to be right now?” 

Cas was sure he was having a sensory malfunction. His hands felt stiff and swollen. Like too much blood was rushing through his whole system, pulsing in his fingertips. His woollen gloves itched and he was going to howl like a classic film monster if he didn’t scratch it real soon. 

“Wanna uh come inside for a coffee?” Dean said awkwardly. “I just made muffins, banana angel cake.” 

Cas’ legs were moving of their own volition, his nose was picking up on vanilla and sugar. 

“Look thanks for not being an ass about the forms. I was mad when I got the fine cause you know if we did bond I wasn’t even conscious enough to remember it.” 

Cas shook his head. “No, I don’t think I understand.” 

“I wanted to be awake for it, I wanted to feel what it was like, what if it was real good or real nice? Was it?”

“It was like being shot by a comet.” 

“Yeah that sounds nice,” Dean opened the oven door, laying out a steaming baked muffin with a golden top on a single plate. “It’s a big deal, I’ve been dreaming about being touch claimed since I worked out I started my omega cycle. I know I’m not much of a hearts and flowers guy but I never thought it would or could happen to me. And then it did but I don’t get to fucking enjoy it.” 

“It has not been an enjoyable experience, trust me,” Cas muttered. 

The coffee cup was put down a little forcefully in front of him. “What is your problem with me?” 

“I don’t have a problem with you Dean.” 

“Yes you do. You look at me like you do. You follow me with your eyes and that smirk and that stare. And you never called after the mixer when I could’ve sworn we almost slept with each other. You save my life and you claimed me as mate but I don’t hear from you, I don’t get to be with you.” 

“I’m not going to impose a monumental obligation upon you just because I lost control!” 

“I don’t think you have control. Of me, of you, of anything.” 

“Bend over and grab the bench,” Cas said standing up, his hand lashing out shoving Dean shoulder first into the counter top, the coffee steaming a few inches from Dean’s nose. 

“Like I’m gonna ...”

“Hands up,” Cas grabbed Dean’s wrists, drawing them up and out, not remarking on the shudder that ran over Dean’s entire frame the moment his wrists were seized. 

“Who the fuck you think you are...” 

Thwack.

Cas blinked. Dean was silent, his ass propped up over the counter. 

Thwack, thwack, went Cas’ gloved hand on Dean’s robe clad ass. 

Cas bit into his palm, the phantom itch did not go away. 

“Grab my fingers and don’t let go.” 

Dean moved lightning fast to comply and Cas slid his bare hands out of the gloves. There was no more pretence now that could feel every stitch of cotton covering Dean’s hips. It was a lot and too much and not nearly enough. 

“Lemme, I gotta,” Dean wriggled. “I can’t, help me take it off. Take my pants off Cas, please.” 

So Cas did and Dean’s underwear was pink silk and that was a pleasant surprise. Not hot pink, fleshly opalescent pink, stretched too tight and strained by what’s happening at the front. 

“I need,” Dean gasped for air. “I need you Cas.” 

And that made the palms of his hands tingle and itch so much it hurt. And there was only one thing to do to make it right. 

Thwack, THWACK, thwack!

Dean’s ass slid off the bench and for a moment Cas wondered if he had to give Dean CPR again because Dean practically rolled off the table groaning. Like he was dying from ecstacy and then, then Dean turned around and placed himself in Castiel’s hands. 

“I need you,” he said as Cas gingerly made contact. “Just you. All of you. Gimme all you got.” 

And Cas did, till his palms smarted and his hands were covered. 

* * * 

“They double the fine if instead of being accidental and unreported the bond is enduring?” Dean yelled into the phone. 

“I’m afraid so, Dean,” Cas said over bluetooth. “You owe me Dean.”

“I owe you nothing, you owe me two months worth of muffin baskets. How do you not know that’s an omega mating ritual is to offer nourishment?”

“I never thought I’d be mated.” 

“You thought wrong Cas,” Dean paused, voice dropping low. “What’s Dr Novak’s ETA?”

“Estimated time of arrival is ... now,” Cas shifted gears down to park and got out of his car. 

Dean was waiting for him inside his house. And though his palm had stopped itching for a while now, Cas was still going to hold Dean accountable. Hold him and caress him. And listen to the sing song of his moans and groans. And touch till his heart’s content. Till Dean’s heart was content. 

The End


End file.
